The Herald
by Lyndsey Rose
Summary: CHAPTER THREE JUST ADDED! Attitude ridden Elli Whittaker, known as 'that angry guitar playing girl', is fed up with life. Just when she thought juggling an autistic brother and job at the local paper was hard enough, the rude new farmer decides to test
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Please note that this story will be a mix of "Back to Nature" and "Harvest Moon 64". Thanks, and enjoy!**

The Herald.  
Chapter One.

"Elli!" There is a pause.

Thank _God_. Maybe if I ignore him long enough, he'll just go away.

Or, best-case scenario, he could fall of the face of the earth.

"Elli Mae Whittaker, gosh darn it!"

Nope, he is feeling persistent today, or maybe just lucky. And I'd had my hopes up too. I roll my eyes into the back of my head, annoyed, and spin in the swivel chair to face my orange haired gnome of a boss. A maroon vein is bulging out of his pencil thin neck. I stifle a smirk.

"What _is_ it, Rick?" I ask the paranoid little weasel.

He clears his throat in that superior manner of his and looks pointedly at the speakers adorning my head. I groan and slip my headphones down the back of my neck, reluctantly tearing myself from the wail of the guitar and pulse of the bass.

This had better be good.

"Have you edited and laid out Basil's article on the history of the Flower Festival?" Rick's frantic voice squeaks with stress.

"_Yes_, Rick. I'm putting the final touches on it now," I respond in a voice just _dripping_ with irritation. A wave of relief washes over his face, and he removes his glasses from their perch on his face to wipe beads of sweat off of his forehead. I smile despite my frustrated annoyance. He is such a dork. "Rick, dude, just chill. We'll have this edition out on time, just like all the others." He blinks, looking somewhat satisfied, and scurries out of the room into his office. I push the clacky headphones back up over my messy mop of chestnut hair and turn back to the computer monitor.

* * *

Welcome to the cramped, slightly chaotic office of _the Flowerbud Herald_, the weekly paper published by and for the islanders in our town. The paper is a small but satisfying read for the residents—that's the candy-coated explanation, at least. Today is a typical day in the office, and what you've just witnessed is typical dialogue between Rick and I.

Being the slightly scatter brained, slightly obsessive-compulsive editor that he is, Rick's scampering nervously about the office, mumbling about making our deadline, and screaming at me (when he needs someone to alleviate stress on) has become routine in my eyes. I work primarily with layout and design, and I suppose it's my 'job' to help collect articles from the writers, edit, and format them. I'd originally applied to the paper last year for a summer internship as a journalist because I love writing. But, unfortunately for me, Rick wasn't a fan of that idea. I was too young, and there wasn't enough room for another article in the paper anyway, he'd said. Plus, he needed an assistant, and seeing as I was more computer-competent than others…

* * *

Carrying a chin-high stack of manila folders, Rick reenters the room and clumsily hands me the top one. I sigh and open the folder, sifting through the materials until I find what I need. Rick is making copies on the Xerox machine when a deep, sultry woman's voice sounds from the opposite end of the tiny room.

"Rick, baby." A scantily dressed Karen appears in the doorway of the office, ornamented in expensive jewelry and thick eye makeup. Rick responds in a breathy, gruff voice, and the two fall into each other's arms for a heated kiss more appropriate for the bedroom. "Mmm," Karen murmurs licentiously, allowing Rick's hands to run down her curvy, artificially tanned figure.

I am tempted to vomit all over Karen's designer leather boots.

"Ah-HEM."

I clear my throat in an obvious manner, hoping they'll remember that—_hello_—there is an unwilling observer in the room, and that they need to take their passion elsewhere.

It is in mid-kiss that Karen notices a third person's presence in the room. "Oh, hi Elli," Karen says in that synthetically sweet voice she uses on puppies, little babies and Elli Whittaker, completely unashamed of the little lust fest I'd just witnessed.

She detaches herself from Rick and saunters over to me.

I gag inwardly.

"Here's my article," she says, dropping a coffee stained, slightly crumpled piece of filler paper into my lap. I stare at the poor excuse of an article. It is a measly three hundred words scrawled out in barely legible writing, which I'll most likely end up rewriting completely.

I want to burst out laughing in her face. I choke out a "thank you" instead.

Karen and Rick disappear into his office, as they do every time she stops in. I tap my pen against the cold metal desk and skim over Karen's article. It's littered with spelling errors and run-ons. I debate asking Rick to just scrap Karen's article, but decide against it.

Rick obviously knows Karen can't write to save her life (and I'm pretty sure she's aware of that fact too), but he can't just say no to his girlfriend. He's got to play his cards right with the girl if he wants to keep her, and obviously she enjoys the perks of making money for turning in sloppy articles like these. What are the odds that a dork like Rick ends up with a loose, exotic beauty like Karen anyway? The fact that he's one of the wealthiest eligible bachelors in Flowerbud might have something to do with it.

But what do I know? I'm just a naïve seventeen-year-old girl who has much to learn about this world, or so Rick tells me. Who am I to make judgments about the relationship about two **mature**, very in love twenty-one-year-old quoteunquote "adults"?

* * *

An hour flies by. 3:00 PM, and I am itching to leave. I scribble a note to Rick, letting him know that issue is done and ready to head straight to the printers after one final edit tomorrow morning. I don't mention my omission of Karen's article in the layout.

She'll get over it.

Shutting down the computers, I stuff an array of papers and CD player into my old beat up messenger bag. I exit the office and swing the bag over my shoulder, slamming the door behind me. Ah, fresh air and the reassurance of another issue well done. It's pure bliss.

The Herald office is located in Kai's dumpy shack of a house—right on the waterfront. He's only in town for the summer, so we pay to rent the downstairs while his bedroom is located upstairs. It's tight, but air-conditioned, so there are no complaints from my end.

As I begin my trek home, I can faintly hear the high-pitched wail of a girl.

"Elli! Elli!"

Good gosh. No. Please no.

But the voice persists, getting closer. "Elli! Elli, wait up!"

I do not halt, but rather, quicken my pace.

_Please_ don't bother me, kid. Not today.

"ELLI!" the voice screams. I halt in my tracks and spin around ever so slowly.

"Gosh, Elli, I thought you'd never hear me," comes the syrupy voice.

"_Hi_, Popuri," I mutter through clenched teeth.

She grins at me, pink curls bouncing. I force a smile through irritation.

I am just too nice.

As annoying as Popuri can be, she is as lovable as a saucer-eyed, tail-wagging puppy. She's fourteen and has this unhealthy obsession of tagging along with the older girls of the village. I usually try to avoid her, but when she **does** catch me, I put up with it only for the sole purpose that I can set a better example than _Karen_ ever could.

"Have you heard the news?" she asks, eyes sparkling.

"Uhm, news?" I start walking towards the town square, and she falls into step beside me.

"You mean, you haven't heard? Ooh, Elli, it's so exciting!"

"What is it?" Despite my obvious annoyance, I'm curious. Maybe the Flower Shop her mother and father own is getting new carpeting in or something equally unimportant.

"The new farmer is arriving today!" she shouts, practically blasting out my eardrums with that high-pitched voice of hers. One may think that Popuri is overreacting just a tad, but this _is_ exciting news. New villagers don't surface often around here. In fact, the last person to buy land in this town and settle down was Rick, and just look what a thrill _he_ turned out to be.

My face must reflect the enthusiasm I see in Popuri's, because she continues. "Mr. Greene is throwing a huge party for his arrival at the Inn. Everyone in the village is invited!"

"Wow. That sounds like fun," I put in genuinely.

We pass the church and Karen's parent's grocery store. Next to Rick, Karen's family is the richest on the island. It's been the only place the villagers could buy food for the past three years while there was a vacancy at the farm. And of course, Karen's parents, being the greedy morons that they are, hiked up prices and monopolized while they could.

Me, bitter? Oh, no, honey. I am **past** that.

"Anyway, I heard his name is Liam." Popuri pipes.

"Who?"

"The new farmer, duh! He's the grandson of Pappy—just graduated from high school, so I guess that makes him around your age, right Elli? Rumor says…" Popuri continues to babble on beside me, but I am oblivious to everything she's saying, caught up in my own thoughts about the new farmer.

We finally reach my house, and, being the idiot I am, I feel around in my pocket only to realize I'd left my key on the kitchen table this morning. I rap my knuckles a few times against the green, wooden door that nicely compliments the red brick of my grandma's split-level home. Upon the opening of the door, Popuri scampers inside, nearly knocking my poor Grandmother off her feet. Grandma shoots me a smile. I roll my eyes.

Among Popuri's other obsessions, animals happen to be another. Every time she comes over, she _insists_ on seeing my dog. Not that I blame her. Reese **is** pretty cute.

"Reesypuppy!" Popuri cries, and drops to her knees. Reese runs to her, excited, and bathes her in kisses with his wet tongue. Traitor.

Stu is home too. I find him in his room, sitting on the floor.

"H-h-hi Elli," he says, glancing up at me with huge, innocent eyes through his mop of jet black hair.

"Hello, Stu!" I exclaim. "What have you got there?" I ask, squatting down to the seven-year-old's level.

"Blocks," my brother says simply, placing one in my hand.

I feel my eyes crinkle with a smile. "Thank you, Stu."

I place a kiss on the autistic child's forehead. It's little moments like this with Stu that mean the world to me.

Grandma appears at the doorway. "You kids ready for dinner?"

"Sure," I say, picking up Stu and swinging him into my arms. He giggles.

"Popuri, you want to stay for chicken and potatoes?" Grandma asks.

"Yeah!" she exclaims from the other room. She enters Stu's room a second later, Reese trailing at her feet. "As long as I can be done by six. That's when the new farmer's ferry is scheduled to arrive."

We filter into the kitchen. "Oh yeah, Grandma. Is it okay if I go meet the farmer at six? And then there's this party afterward at the inn for—"

"Elli," Grandma says, voice stern. "You _know_ I have therapy at the hot spring with the Doctor every Wednesday night. You have to stay home with Stu."

Crap. I'd forgotten all about that. I take a seat and help Stu into his chair. "Well, what if I take him with me?" I plead.

"You know how Stu is with large crowds," Grandma says, voice softening, but growing all the more stern.

I sigh and try once more. "Grandma. These things only happen once in a blue moon. Please, could you cancel with the Doctor? We could all go—as a family," I beg.

My Grandmother has already made up her mind. "No, Elli. I cannot cancel on Peter now. The matter is settled."

"_Fine_," I say, agitated. Stu can sense the displeasure in my voice, instinctively looking up at me with those big, questioning eyes. I feel tears form in my own eyes. I'm angry, but I can't blame Stu. "It's not his fault", I repeat over in my head, biting on my lower lip to hold back the tears. Grandma spoons a glob of mashed potatoes onto my plate. Popuri prattles on about the new farmer.

"It's not Stu's fault that I can't have a life of my own."

* * *

Three hours later and Grandma has left for therapy. Popuri is long gone, anxiously waiting the arrival of the new farmer with the rest of the village. I scrub dishes extra hard, releasing anger, while Stu is preoccupied with his blocks again in the living room. Reese is dozing at my feet on the tiled kitchen floor.

I finish the last plate and glance out the window. With all my anger evaporated, I'm in a wonderful mood. "Stu, it's beautiful out tonight, don't you think?" He gets up from his place on the floor and joins me at the window. I take his hand. "Wanna go outside?" I ask. He nods eagerly, and after slathering both Stu and myself in bug spray, we head out the door and into the front yard. Before leaving the house, though, I run down the hall and snag my guitar from the bedroom I share with my grandmother.

The air outside is thick with humidity. The streetlight drones on warmly, illuminating our small, bodied, picket fenced yard. Stu chases after lightening bugs, Reese frolicking at his feet. I giggle and strum out a few chords on the guitar.

It's not long before I'm lost in the music, singing at random a song I wrote for Stu. He recognizes it as 'his song' and draws near to stand next to me, completely forgetting about the lightening bugs. Stu loves it when I play guitar--he says it reminds him of our mother. I glance down at the beautiful hand painted instrument that was once my mom's. She'd asked Grandma to pass it down to me if anything ever happened to her.

I gulp back memories and focus on Stu, emphasizing certain parts of the song with my voice, attempting to make Stu smile. He laughs wildly at my Elvis-voice impersonation at the chorus, grows quiet when I grow loud and passionate on the bridge. It's through the last refrain that Reese interrupts my song with his ferocious bark.

Stu looks as puzzled as I feel. "What is it, Reese? What is it, boy…?" I trail off, realizing what—or who—my dog is growling at. A teenaged boy about my age is standing at the fence, perfect, white-toothed smile plastered on his perfect, well-defined face. He stands there in all of his tanned, chiseled glory.

I've seen boys like this before. They're those boys on WB dramas who drive gas guzzling Hummers, laugh at the mentally disabled and elderly, and sleep with a new girl each weekend—girls like Karen. They're those guys who think they're the center of the universe and can have whatever they want handed over to them on a silver platter.

I want **nothing** to do with these types of guys.

It's been two minutes of silence and speculation, and he is still grinning at me. His god-like smile mocks my stupid little song.

"Excuse me," I say, agitated. "Can I help you?"

"Your playing—it was amazing," he says, almost passionately.

Ahh, so he's an actor too.

"Uh-huh. I'm sure that's what you tell every girl you meet," I respond coldly, standing up.

The smile disappears from his face. "No, actually, girls where I come from aren't so musically inclined," he responds, throwing a bit of attitude back in my face. "But at least they know how to take a compliment."

I'm pretty good at attempting to care, but I'm already halfway to the house with Stu and Reese ahead of me. We've got better things to do then eavesdropped on by some stranger.

Wait a second.

I spin around. "You're not Liam, the new farmer, are you?" I ask.

He smirks. "And you must be that angry Elli girl who threw a fit when she couldn't come to my party tonight. Am I right?"

I am going to _kill_ Popuri. "Why aren't you at the party?"

"Eh, I needed some fresh air. The people in there were a little—"

"Overbearing?" I cut him off.

"Yeah, something like that."

I hear Stu making a racket inside the house.

"I really have to get going. You have a nice night," I smirk.

"You too," he sneers, pivoting on his heel and walking away from my picket fence.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thanks to the five of you who reviewed with such uplifting comments! You are the reason why I'm continuing with this. Enjoy!**

The Herald  
Chapter 2

I wake the next morning to bright sunlight streaming through a gap in the curtains. As I swing my bare feet over the bed and onto the floor, I can hear Stu's giggle and Grandma puttering around in the kitchen. I grab the pair of jeans I wore yesterday off the floor and hike them up my hips. A wrinkled concert tee shortly follows. I exit the bedroom I share with my Grandmother, raking a brush through my choppily layered hair.

"'Morning Elli," Grandma says, looking up from her bagel and smiling slightly at me.

"Hey, Grandma," I say, putting down the brush and grabbing a bowl from the cabinet. Stu, I notice, is planted in his usual spot--in front of the entertainment stand, watching television.

"... And in other news, preparations have begun for the Flower Festival, which falls on the 23rd of Spring this year," comes the announcer's voice.

I shake the box of Cheerios until the cereal spills out into my bowl. "Are you going to go to the Festival this year, Elli?" Grandma's voice is hopeful.

"Naw," I say, dumping a few spoonfuls of sugar on top of my Cheerios. "That festival is ridiculous. It's basically just another reason for a group of men to get drunk and gawk at Karen in some skimpy dress as she waltzes around with a tiara on her head. Isn't that right, Stu?"

Stu throws me a confused look, which I return with a smile. Sometimes I'm jealous of his naïveté.

"Elli," comes Grandma's harsh tone.

I pour milk over my cereal.

_Wonderful. Here it comes..._

"I know you're hostile towards Karen, but you need to start getting out there and doing things. _Social_ things."

I roll my eyes and shove a spoonful of Cheerios in my mouth.

"Don't roll your eyes at me, young lady. You've got an attitude, all the elders in town tell me so. You're so angry with everyone and everything—you need to stop this. Maybe if you started acting like a friendly, respectful, _normal_ teenager, you'd have some friends."

"That's awfully nice of you to be so concerned about my social life," I say, a sarcastic tug on my voice. "But you didn't seem to care too much about it last night." And with that, I shrug my bag over my shoulder and am out the door.

I descend the steps of the front porch, smirking to myself. I've become so bitter, so derisive—it's wonderful. Two years ago, I was so bright, so bubbly.

_That was when mom was still around._

I didn't have anything to be cynical about back then.

But now… Oh, **now** is a completely different story. I'm not blind to the bad in people. I'm wiser now, I can watch out for myself.

My thoughts shift back to Grandma as I near the crossroads, blood boiling. _She is always calling me out for being reclusive. Like it's helping me to point out that I have no friends. _

As if on cue, Ann and Maria barrel around the corner, laughing hysterically. And suddenly, they notice me, slowly coming to a stop. I halt in my tracks as well, narrowing my eyes as if to say, "What? Stopping to gawk at the freak show?" We stare at each other for what seems like ten minutes—them looking at me as if they want to say something, me glaring back as if I want to sock them both. Finally, they continue on their way, exchanging hushed whispers and sneaking glances back in my direction.

_See, Grandma? _I want to say. _It's not like I'm anti-social—there's just no one in Flowerbud _worthy_ of socializing with. Point proven in that little exchange there. _

I bring my thoughts to a close as I approach the office of _the_ _Herald_. "Hey El!" Rick calls, opening the door and stepping outside. Then he locks the front door and tosses me the ring of keys, which I catch with a slightly confused expression on my face.

"Sorry, El, but I'm taking the day off. Karen needs me to take her to the main land so she can get a dress for the Flower Festival."

_Are you kidding me? _

"Here. I made a list of things for you to do today so you can still get your hours in and whatnot." He hands me a yellow piece of filler paper. I look down at the bulleted list and am tempted to laugh.

"_Organize the file archive in the office? Pull the weeds in Rick's garden_? Rick, I'm not going to—"

"Oh!" Rick exclaims, completely ignoring my protest. "Here, there's one thing I forgot to add." He digs for a pen in his pocket and grabs the list out of my hand. "Here," he says, jotting frantically. "We're going to need you to interview that new Liam kid for the next issue of _the Herald_."

"But--!"

"Look, Elli, all of our staff writers are too busy with Flower Festival arrangements to interview him, and seeing as you're not going to the festival…" He smirks. "I guess you're the only one with the time to get it done."

No. There is no possible way that I'm talking to that Liam kid, not after the episode we had last night. Plus, listening to conceited Liam talk about himself for any amount of time during the interview would be unbearable. "Can't you guys just wait 'til after the festival to do the interview?" I plead.

Rick, obviously irritated now with my complaints, thrusts the list back into my palm and caps his pen. "I don't understand you, Elli!" he booms. "You're always angry because you never get to actually _write_, and now, when I give you the opportunity, you don't want it? It's ridiculous! It's like you want to be fired!"

"ALRIGHT, Rick, I'll do it," I say, throwing up my hands and surrendering.

"Good," he says, satisfied. "I'd like it on my desk by tomorrow morning, if that wouldn't be too much trouble."

"No, Rick," I force through clenched teeth. "No trouble at all."

-----

When I arrive at the farm, Liam and another man (who I'm guessing is his father) are unloading a bright red truck. I watch as they lift a dilapidated couch, a lamp, and a few other things from the bed of the truck before noticing me.

Liam says something to his father who laughs, and then jogs on over to me.

"Fancy seeing you here," he says. There is an element of sarcasm in his voice, and an amused grin plays at the edges of his lips. "For what occasion does the Angry Elli Girl come crawling back? Perhaps to say she's sorry…?"

I roll my eyes and fold my arms across my chest. "Not in this lifetime."

He laughs.

I scowl.

"Look, I need to do an interview with you for _the Herald_. You know, Flowerbud's paper? Everyone is just so eager to read about Golden Farmer Boy.' And seeing as everyone else on the staff is setting up for the Flower Festival—"

"Flower what?"

"Festival. It's this big, stupid celebration of some goddess or something equally as brainless."

His eyebrows crease as if he's interested. "Hm. Well, Ms. Angry Elli, I _guess_ I can do an interview with you, but I'm kind of busy at the moment." He looks over to his father who is carrying a television set towards the house. "Want to come back in a couple hours?"

_No. _

"I guess," I say, kicking some dirt with my shoe and trying to look bored.

"Okay. I'll see you around 3 then."

"Can't wait."

-----

"What is your name, and can you spell it for me?"

Annnnnnd, we're off. Or so the interview is.

"William Darcy, Liam for short. Spelled like it sounds."

We're in Liam's dimly lit, musty smelling little shack of a house. He's standing in the kitchen with a can of pop in hand, leaning on the counter casually. I'm sitting on the very edge of the couch in the adjacent room, stiff, upright, and uncomfortable.

"Tell me a little bit about your family and your life before Flower Bud," I say, avoiding direct eye contact with Liam, glancing over his head at the dirty refrigerator.

"Well, you saw my dad before—he was helping me unload the truck. My mom was here yesterday for the welcome party, but she had to leave early this morning—she was scheduled to be in court."

"Ah, so she's a criminal?" I ask, my left eyebrow rocketing skyward.

"No, a lawyer," he grins. "I also have a sister. Her name is Lucy."

"And her age?"

"Twelve," he says. "As for my life before Flowerbud…" He pauses to think, taking a swig from his diet Pepsi. "Well, I graduated from high school last spring, and instead of moving onto college, I took a year off to help my dad out with his landscaping business. But then word came that my Grandfather died, and I guess the village was really suffering from this monopoly held by the grocers or whatever—"

"Yes, we were."

"And it had been Grandpa's will that his family inherit and run the farm so… Here I am."

I nod, satisfied. "What do you like to do in your spare time? Got any hobbies?"

"I like to read. And write, kinda like you. I'm also really into music. I play guitar." He gestures to a guitar case leaning against the far wall. The one I'd failed to notice until now. "I think we're a lot alike," he ventures.

"You don't know me," I say, becoming defensive.

He plays with the tab on his pop can. "Well, I said I write and play guitar. And evidently you do too, unless the person doing that before was your equally bratty twin sister."

My laugh is full of contempt.

"Forget I said anything," he says, his voice more edgy than the light banter we were shooting back and forth a moment ago. "Let's just move on and get this over with."

"What do you hope to find here in Flowerbud?"

"Well, I'm hoping to become successful with this farm business, hoping to learn a lot from it. Also, I want to make a bunch of new friends, maybe meet a future wife. Who knows."

"Hah, good luck with that one," comes my negative comment, shooting down his hopeful one. We have it down to a science by now, I swear.

"What do you mean?"

He is so naïve.

"I _mean_, good luck finding a future wife among the petty girls here."

"That's funny," he says. "The only petty girl I seem to have run across thus far is sitting right here in this room."

Silence.

Then, "I'm sorry, I have to be leaving now," I force. "Goodnight."

He hands me my coat and opens the door. "Goodbye."

-----

"Grandma!" I shriek. "You didn't! Please say you didn't!"

"This morning was the last straw, young lady. I am sick and tired of your attitude, and Peter is a very nice young man."

"But Grandma! You can't just say that—that I'll be his date to the Flower Festival!"

"Why not? He needed a date, and I wanted you to go." The way she says this so calmly, so matter-of-factly infuriates me. Unfortunately, Stu is in the room, and it's an unspoken rule that we can't cuss in his presence.

So I stomp to the door, open it violently, stomp outside, slam the door behind me, and just let loose. I mean, just open my mouth and rip out every filthy word known to the English language.

First, Liam completely embarrasses me.

And now I'm set to go to the Flower Festival with Peter, the Doctor. A man I hardly know nor desire to get to know.

Shoot me now.


End file.
